Working hard...or hardly working

Most weeks, my days at work are pretty tame. The only thing that rushes me is writing all my notes and putting my time in.

This past week was the most exhausting week I've had a work!  I had two patients die over the weekend and ended the week with six more.  When a patient is admitted we have 48 hours to complete a pyschosocial assessment. Meeting the family for the first time and assessing their emotions/needs is a bit exhausting, at least for me. I had three new families to meet and assess and I had about 5 that I still hadn't written up (oops!)

I don't usually work a full day, maybe 1030/11 to sometime between 4 and 5. This week took its revenge. One day I worked 9-6.  Too much for me. I'm hoping next week will be a little better. 2 of my 6 news are being admitted this weekend! Hoping next week I won't get anymore.

I don't know how therapists sit with people's emotions all day. I'm not technically a therapist, but constantly dealing with the emotions of 32 patients and their families can take a lot out of a girl. By the time I got home this week, I didn't want to deal with my emotions or anyone else's.

People always think my work is depressing. But I wouldn't categorize as depressing. It is a lot of intense feelings you're discussing and helping people with, but if you're going to be any good - you have to distance yourself.  Of course, there are patients/families that you really do care and have strong feelings for, but it's not typical.  And I think a big reason for the crazy hilarity of our office is because of the nature of the business. The laughter, jokes (even about death), and just conversations offset the deaths we face everyday.

There was one death that was a bit traumatic for me. I had a patient with a lot of emotional issues and probably a personality disorder. I'm sure my emotional boundaries with her were not healthy for me, I was emotionally invested in her.

Long story, short - she was overly dependent on me, manipulative, self harming, and it eventually came to light that she had lied about her diagnosis. If I had had healthy boundaries with her, it wouldn't have bothered me too much. But I was so hurt about all her lies and all the energy/time I spent trying to keep her stable and help her deal with everything.

We had to discharge her and she committed suicide the week it was to be official. She came to our inpatient unit and I went to see her. I just sat and talked to her, telling her that I was there and that she had to get up because she wouldn't want anyone to see her with her hair like that (she was very prim and proper)  The next morning, I had a visit and had planned to stop by the office to see her before. But I didn't. When I left my visit, my phone was full of text messages and a voice mail from my boss. Thankfully, I called her before looking at the texts. She was trying to reach me before I heard the news from anyone else. The text messages were all from people checking in on me.

I got to experience the feelings of those left behind. And when they say there's a lot of anger, it's true. I was pissed off for a good while. The sadness did come, but I was mostly just mad. I was mad at myself because I was so fed up with her and all the lies that Friday that I left quickly knowing I should stay with her. Mad at myself because I was going to call her that weekend and I didn't. Made that I didn't get to say good-bye to her. And just angry that she did it. Angry that she knew how it felt to lose someone to suicide (her son committed suicide) and did it anyway.

Now, I understand her decision. I miss her. I miss calling her and her saying "well hey, darling" in her sweet little voice.

I don't know how to end this. I don't even think I've come full circle with it all. I'm just going to leave it here....